Club Cupid (10 page)

She was beautiful, no doubt, but so were any number of women he met on a daily basis. Sexy and passionate? Sure, but so was Sheely and he’d never been enticed to sleep with her. Intelligent and inquisitive? Yes, but not all the women in his bed had been empty-headed, either.

“Do I have something on my chin?” she asked, holding up her napkin.

“No,” he replied with a laugh. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“You were a million miles away, I think.”

“No, I rarely let my thoughts and plans wander past the boundaries of the island,” he lied, although he wanted it to be true.

“It must be nice to feel so at peace with your…decisions,” she said, her voice wine-wistful.

Her words raised a disturbing question in his mind: Was he truly making proactive decisions about his life, or had he simply bowed to serendipity by staying in Key West? To evade commenting, he turned the misguided observations around. “Earlier today when you claimed to be happy, you weren’t being truthful?”

She slowly pushed aside her plate and leaned forward on her elbows, her arms crossed at her slim wrists. “I was being as truthful as I knew to be,” she said, her too-bright eyes testifying to the effects of the wine. “But when I see people like you and Jordy living exactly the life you want to—and living it in paradise…well, you have to admit that writing code for a computer in Ohio pales a bit in comparison.”

“It’s a good job,” he said, mimicking her words.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But when you consider that you spend the better part of your waking hours at your job—and more time with your co-workers than your own family—you should really love who you do, er, I mean
what
you do.”

Randy wet his lips, ignoring her slip. “Of course, some would argue that what I do doesn’t exactly contribute to the quality fabric of society.”

She shrugged in an exaggerated fashion. “That’s for you to decide.”

He frowned.
Decide…decisions.

“I’d give anything for a cigarette,” she said, leaning closer. Her eyes drooped and her lips pouted.

Randy swallowed. “Anything?”

She smiled lazily and nodded. “And anything twice for two.”

He stood up suddenly, sending his chair crashing to the floor and gathering the attention of couples seated around them. “I-I’ll get Jordy’s order and see if I can find you a smoke,” he said, righting the chair and snatching his napkin from the floor. After smoothing the cloth next to his abandoned plate, Randy gave her a smile he hoped was stronger than his resolve to resist her, then strode in the direction of the kitchen.

Jordy stood in the steamy, bustling kitchen wearing a stained apron and sampling a pinkish soup that Randy recognized as lobster bisque.

“Randy, are you leaving so soon?” The man wagged his silver eyebrows. “Not that I blame you—your Ms. Jensen is quite a dish.”

He frowned. “She’s not
mine
, Jordy. I came to get your liquor order.”

“So testy,” the man said, tsk-tsking. “She seems like a very special young woman.”

Randy clenched his jaw under the man’s watchful gaze. “Just a pretty tourist, Jordy, who had her purse stolen and missed her cruise ship.”

“And I suppose you’re simply helping her out in a jam?”

“That’s right.”

Jordy’s laugh was gratuitous. “Well, if that isn’t a case of the fox taking care of the henhouse, I don’t know what is.”

Randy sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “You’re a riot, Jordy. Where’s your liquor order?”

The old man chuckled as he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his apron pocket. “If I didn’t know better, my boy, I’d say Cupid has clipped you with his arrow.”

Rankled, Randy protested hotly, “Yeah, well, don’t worry—” He stopped, then sighed as he looked into the wrinkled face of a true friend, and clapped Jordy on the back. “Don’t worry, old man, it’s just a flesh wound.” He took the order form and started to retreat, more anxious than ever to deposit Frankie safely at the B&B. Then he snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot—do you know where I can get a couple of cigarettes?”

“I didn’t realize you smoked.”

Randy gave him a wry smile. “It’s for the hen.”

“Ah. Check at the bar. Good night, lad, and good luck.”

Taking the long way back to the table, Randy fought to get a grip on himself. No woman could wield so much power in his life unless he allowed it. Just because Frankie Jensen had unwittingly pushed old buttons didn’t mean he had to assign her a special place in his life. She was an acquaintance, that’s all—and a passing acquaintance at that.

But when he neared the table, he acknowledged the quickening of his pulse at the mere sight of her and ground his teeth. Her smile widened to a grin, melting his heart when he produced the unopened pack of menthol cigarettes—a harbinger of things to come, he feared.

“No Key lime pie for dessert?” he asked, holding back the pack.

“This will be my dessert,” she said, plucking the package out of his hand. “And another glass of wine.”

Randy eyed her dubiously as he sat down. “How about a half glass?”

She leaned forward, looking hurt. “I thought you wanted me to relax.”

Red was nursing a good buzz—beautifully. Her chiseled features were soft around the edges and her eyes luminous. Desire beat a rhythm through his loins, torturing him. He sighed. “I do, but I don’t want you to fall off the bike, either.”

She shrugged, hurriedly tapping out a cigarette. “Okay.” She lit the smoke with a hand that shook slightly.

He frowned as he poured her a half glass, pushing his own glass aside in preparation for driving home. “You’re hooked on those things.”

She inhaled deeply, drawing in her cheeks until her eyes bugged, then turned her head to exhale. “No, I’m not.”

Scoffing, he asked, “Are you the same woman who just promised ‘anything twice’ for a couple of lousy cigarettes?”

A smile moved languidly across her pink, freckled features. The cigarette dangled from her long fingers, the tip sending up a curling wisp of smoke. “Surely you didn’t take me literally.”

Her words had indeed telegraphed pictures to his mind of various types of repayment. “Of course not,” he said, glancing at his watch. Ten-fifteen. He could drop off Frankie, then head back to the bar
for closing. Perhaps the kissing booths would still be open and he could find a substitute for—

“Am I keeping you from something you’d rather be doing?” she asked, taking another drink of the heady wine.

“No,” he assured her quickly. “I’d just lost track of time, that’s all.”

She smiled again. “Does that mean you’re having fun?”

“No.” He winced, and held up one hand. “I mean, yes, I’m enjoying, um…dinner.”

“But dinner is over,” she pressed, gesturing to the near-empty table. Their plates had been cleared in his absence. “Are you still having fun?”

“Yes,” he said politely, deciding not to elaborate. He signaled the waiter for the check and reached up to run a finger around his shirt collar, only to remember he was wearing a T-shirt. The unconscious gesture astounded him because it was a habit he’d dropped ten years ago when he’d adopted the dress code of the island. So why did he suddenly feel as if he had an eighty-dollar shirt collar pulled tight around his neck with a sixty-dollar tie?

“No Key lime pie for dessert?” she asked, sounding amused.

“Uh, no,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. He glanced up at Antony who strolled the catwalk playing “My Funny Valentine” on his silver piccolo. Randy lifted his hand, and Antony gave him a thumbs-up, gesturing toward Frankie. Flustered, Randy shot him a tight smile and nodded curtly.

The waiter came by and handed him a note. “Where’s the check?” Randy asked.

“Mr. Jordy asked me to give you this, sir. Good night.” The young man nodded to Frankie. “Ma’am.”

Perplexed, Randy opened the note.
Accept dinner with my compliments. Happy Valentine’s Day to you and your Ms. Jensen. This is a special night, I think.

“What does it say?” she asked, draining her wineglass.

“Dinner’s on the house,” he said, refolding the note. Rankled, he pulled out his wallet and withdrew a hefty tip just as she snuffed out the cigarette in a small tin ashtray. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, trying not to betray his desire to be rid of her as soon as possible.

She smiled and nodded, then pushed herself to her feet using her lower arms. Randy recognized the symptom of someone who might not be feeling so well in the morning and was by her side in a flash. “Easy,” he said when she swayed and raised a hand to her temple. “I think you had a little too much wine, Red.”

“No, red wine,” she corrected, then cracked up at her own terrible joke. “Get it?”

“I got it,” Randy said sourly. “Everyone’s a comedian tonight. Come on, Red, the ride home will be cool enough to help sober you up.”

“I hope Parker has a big hot-water heater,” she said. “Because I can’t wait to take a long, hot shower.”

Cold for me,
he thought as he took her arm and led her toward the entrance. At least she was a happy drunk, he noted as they left and she said
goodbye to everyone. Out on the sidewalk, she shivered and he helped her into her sweater—not an easy task where armholes were concerned. Once tucked inside, she leaned into him and he slid his arm around her shoulders to make sure she didn’t break her pretty neck in her new high-heeled sandals.

“Mmm,” she murmured, settling next to him. The temperature had cooled considerably, but Randy wasn’t cold—probably because his blood pressure and other vital signs had kicked into overdrive. The street celebrations were in full swing, and would be for another few hours. He steered her in and out of heavy pedestrian traffic. Wobbly at first, she had revived somewhat by the time he led her carefully down the short alley toward the parking lot where he’d parked the bike. He considered putting her into a cab, but since the drive to the B&B was such a short distance, he decided she’d be okay. He nearly changed his mind, though, when he realized the skirt she wore might make for a compromising ride. Not that he hadn’t already seen most of her assets, he noted dryly.

Straddling the bike, Randy turned on the headlight and backed the motorcycle out of its spot, then motioned for Frankie to climb on. She did, albeit awkwardly, with her new bag on her shoulder and no complaints about her hiked-up skirt. If he had concerns about her ability to hold on, they were banished immediately when she wrapped her arms around him securely and tucked her chin next to his ear.

Randy felt a rush of affection for the woman folded around him, and realized with a start that
he might very well be saying goodbye to her within a few minutes. After all, he really had no good excuse to see her in the morning. And if the police had recovered her bag, she might simply hightail it to the airport for a standby flight, or grab a taxi to Miami, where her chances of catching an outbound flight would be better.

Once they left the crowds behind, Randy slowed the bike to a crawl, stunned at the thought he would miss seeing her tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day.

Even at the slower pace, they reached Parker’s B&B in short order. He wheeled around to the side of the familiar house and braked to a stop. When she pulled her arms away from his waist, Randy felt cold and…alone. He twisted to help her climb off, relieved to see that despite her windblown appearance, she seemed a bit more alert than when they’d left the restaurant.

“I guess this is almost goodbye,” she said with a strange timbre in her voice. He couldn’t read her eyes in the darkness.

“Almost,” he agreed in a tone more cheerful than he felt. “Did Parker say which room he’d put you in?” he asked, trying to determine the closest entrance.

She nodded, then frowned slightly, reached into the black canvas bag and withdrew a small slip of folded paper. “It says I should ask for the extra bed in the guest house.”

Randy felt his smile drop. “It doesn’t.”

“Sure it does,” she said, relinquishing the note.

He glanced at the scrap of paper, then shook his
head and muttered a curse to himself. That son of a gun!

“What’s wrong?”

He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind spinning. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Red, but
I
live in the guest house.”

A
PPREHENSION TENSED
Frankie’s muscles, then she frowned, having already forgotten what Randy had said, but knowing it had rattled her. She squinted, trying to remember. “Say that again.”

“
I
live in the guest house.”

Touching her forehead as if to force the information to remain close by, she murmured, “That’s nice.” Randy stared at her for so long she wondered if she’d said something wrong. “I’m really tired,” she added in a feeble attempt to end the evening. She’d hoped the wine would dull her senses enough to forget…something, and to resist…someone. She bit her lip and suspiciously studied the man standing before her. Was it Randy she was trying to avoid? He didn’t look very scary. In fact, he looked—Frankie tilted her head and giggled—nervous.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked.

She detected a note of concern and inhaled the clean fresh air, trying to clear the fog from the corners of her brain. “Shouldn’t I be?”

He clasped her by the arms. “Look at me, Red.”

You’re so handsome,
she thought, realizing with a start that she’d said the words aloud.

He sighed, then turned her to the right—no, left—and steered her toward a tiny cottage built on
stilts and not much larger than a child’s playhouse, a comparison which made her giggle again. After a few steps, she decided to kick off her shoes, and walked the rest of the way barefoot, carrying her sandals. Randy didn’t say a word, just tightened up his face like she was being a big pain in the patootie.

“Do you think I’m a big pain in the patootie?” she asked, gazing up at him.

“If a patootie is one of two things,” he said dryly, helping her up stone steps, “then yes.”

Hurt ripped through her. “I’m sorry.”

He made a face while he unlocked the front door. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I don’t blame you for being angry.”

“I’m not angry,” he said, swinging open the door and reaching around the frame to flip on a light. “Come on in and have a seat while I make a phone call.”

Frankie stepped inside, nearly tripping over the bags and boxes of clothing she’d purchased earlier, which had somehow materialized. Barely noting her surroundings, she made a beeline for an over-stuffed gray sofa. She sank into the cushions and started to lie down when she remembered she’d walked barefoot through wet grass. Wriggling her greenish toes on the pale wooden floor, she heard him talking behind her.

“Hello, Nina? It’s Randy—Parker wouldn’t happen to be around, would he?” He sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of. Listen, do you have any available beds tonight, any at all?”

Frankie pushed herself to her feet. “Randy,” she whispered loudly. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He pointed, then turned his attention back to the phone. “It’s a friend of mine and I don’t think she’d be comfortable staying here.”

Walking through a doorway, Frankie felt for a light switch. Illumination spilled over his bedroom, and a rattan ceiling fan began to whir softly. Here the wooden floor gave way to a taupe-colored sisal rug. Frankie stood at the threshold, hesitant to cross into his domain. Randy had made his bed in a hurry, yanking the navy-and-white-striped comforter up to the headboard, the pillows still situated awkwardly beneath. Resisting the urge to stretch out for a catnap, she strolled through the basically neat room to a door she assumed was the bathroom.

At the sight of the glass-walled shower, Frankie began stripping off her clothes, rationalizing she would be finished by the time Randy found her a place to sleep. She turned on the spray of water and adjusted the temperature, then stepped inside, delighted with the pulsing action of good water pressure against her sun-tinged skin.

Too late she remembered she’d left her toiletries in the black canvas bag in the other room. Borrowing a palmful of Randy’s shampoo, she quickly soaped her hair and rinsed, then touched up her legs with a disposable razor and a puff of shaving cream. Lathering with his bar of soap seemed almost too intimate, however, since the planes of Randy’s body had contoured the waxy shape. Wicked images flashed through her head as she smoothed the suds over her skin, but the shower had sobered her enough to know that train of thought led to dangerous territory.

She rinsed and turned off the water, and claimed a clean, fluffy white towel from the stack on the back of the commode. Frankie picked up the borrowed bikini and shook her head, then held the fabric under running water in the ancient porcelain sink. After hanging the suit from the showerhead, she felt loath to put on the silk skirt and blouse again without clean underwear. Deciding that wearing the towel by itself was too provocative, she poked through the garments hanging on the back of the door—a black cotton robe, a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, all undoubtedly Randy’s.

Settling on the soft robe as the most concealing and unsexy garment in which to retrieve her underwear from the living room, Frankie walked out, sorting snippets of their earlier conversation in her clearing head. Apparently Parker had put one over on them, saying he had a place for her to stay when all along he’d planned for her to sleep at Randy’s. She frowned. Was Randy perhaps in on the deception? And how often did he offer overnight lodging to lonely tourists?

When she emerged, he stood across the room, pacing the floor in front of the kitchen counter. From the look in his eyes when he saw her, she realized the thin silk garments might indeed have been the better choice, as opposed to being wrapped head to calves in his sleepwear. She stopped just outside the doorway, determined to keep the situation light. “So?” she asked brightly, double-knotting the ties at her waist.

He smoothed a hand back over his hair and leaned against the counter. “So, the nearest avail
able room is in Islamorada. I’m sorry—Parker’s never done anything like this before.”

She pressed her lips together, sensing the ball was in her court. Pointing to the couch, she asked, “Is that the lumpy sofa you offered me earlier today?” The episode at the police station seemed to have unfolded aeons ago.

One side of his mouth climbed in a wry smile. “Yeah.”

Despite the safety zone of distance between them, Frankie felt a pull emanating from him, tugging at her middle as surely as if they were connected by a steel cable. Trying to neutralize the sexually charged atmosphere, she attempted a laugh. “Well, either I’m very tired, or you were exaggerating, because it didn’t feel lumpy to me.”

“You’re being a good sport about this.”

She laughed again. “Me? Once again I’m indebted to your hospitality.”

“I was afraid you’d think that Parker and I set this up.”

Frankie angled her chin at him. “And did you?”

“No.” He held up his hands. “Absolutely not.”

He looked so mortified, she believed him. Which meant, she realized, that he wasn’t too crazy about her spending the night in close proximity. “I hate to intrude,” she remarked softly.

“Don’t be silly,” he said, straightening. “I’ll take the couch and you can have my, um, bed.”

She hugged herself tight and shook her head. “I insist on taking the sofa, and thank you…again.”

He inhaled deeply and shifted from foot to foot, seemingly at a loss as to what to do with his hands. “You’re feeling better?”

She glanced down, then gave him a sheepish smile. “Yes. I showered and helped myself to your robe.”

He wet his lips slowly. “I noticed.”

After moving self-consciously to her packages, she leaned over. “I’m going to change right away.” She straightened.

“What?”

Burning with embarrassment, she asked, “I don’t suppose I could borrow a T-shirt to sleep in?”

He pushed away from the counter and walked toward the bedroom. “
That
I can help you with.”

She followed him and stood in the doorway while he rummaged in a dresser drawer. He removed a new white T-shirt with a colorful parrot logo that read Rum King’s—Where the First Drink Is a Quarter.

“I like it,” she said with a wide smile.

“Keep it,” he said, handing her the shirt. “I know the boss, I can get another one.”

Her gaze locked with his for several seconds, her senses thrumming at the nearness of him and his bed. Frankie cleared her throat and swept her arm toward the living area. “You have a very nice place.”

“Thanks.” He tugged on the hem of his shirt, then pulled it over his head, baring his chest. “The balcony off the kitchen has a decent view.”

Frankie stood, mesmerized by her own view. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Taking a shower,” he said, nodding toward the bathroom. The muscles in his forearms and chest bunched as he balled up the shirt and banked it
into a huge straw basket containing other clothes. “I thought I’d swing back by the bar for closing and let you get some rest.” When he unbuttoned his cutoffs to reveal a slice of the neon orange swim trunks, she took a step backward and bumped into the door frame. His shorts hit the ground and he stepped out of them, then tossed them into the basket. The ridge of his erection strained at the thin material.

Her feet refused to move.

He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the swim trunks and sighed. “Look, Red, we said no hanky-panky, and as much as I’d like to lay you down on my bed, I won’t, because I told you I wouldn’t. But I’m only human, so if you don’t mind…”

Frankie turned and fled to the living area, her heart pounding. Her body tingled all over and her head swam with erotic images as she heard the faint click of the shower door closing. Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder. They were unfettered, consenting adults. He wanted her, she wanted him—what was keeping them apart? She took a step in the direction of the bedroom.

The fact that they’d only known each other for a day? She’d shared more with him in a few hours than she’d shared with her boyfriend wannabe, Oscar, or anyone else for that matter. She walked to the bedroom doorway and shivered at the sound of the shower coming from the bathroom door standing ajar.

Randy was a fabulous-looking man with mysterious insight and a sense of appreciation for the simpler life. Perhaps their chance meeting on Val
entine’s Day weekend wasn’t by chance at all—maybe she was predestined to cross paths with Randy Tate so she could learn to follow her instincts.

Frankie stepped to the dressing mirror in his bedroom and peered at her reflection. Still wet from the shower, her hair lay skimmed back from her face and down her back. The sun had coaxed even more freckles to bloom across her nose and cheeks, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now. With one glance in the direction of the bathroom, she inhaled and straightened her shoulders, then loosened the robe ties, allowing the thin garment to hang open a few inches.

In the next room, the shower fell silent, sending her heart pumping into overdrive, but she lifted her chin in determination. Maybe her courage came from the lingering effects of the wine, but she suspected she would look back on this moment as a pivotal point in her life…when she learned to take a chance.

She turned as the bathroom door opened and Randy emerged nude, toweling his hair dry. She had a few seconds to absorb the sheer beauty of his damp, muscled body before he realized she was in the room. Broad, brown shoulders transitioned into a smooth chest, with mahogany nipples accenting firm, slanted pecs. His ribs, waist and stomach were compact planes of separated muscle and sinew. The wall of abdominal strength gave way to slim hips. His manhood hung in a tangle of dark hair, flanked by pale skin, indicating his participation at the nude beach was not as extensive as she’d assumed. Sun-lightened hair covered the
length of his powerful thighs and calves. Her throat constricted and she worried if she’d bitten off more than she could chew. No matter, she decided—what she lacked in experience, she would make up for in enthusiasm. If he still wanted her, that is.

He stopped and blinked, then his gaze flew to the opening in the black robe, which revealed one of the few areas of her body he had not already seen. Immediately his erection began climbing and his towel slipped from his hands. His expression was part wonder, part confusion. His molten eyes were alive with desire, but he made no move toward her.

Emboldened by his unabashed nakedness and obvious passion for her, Frankie took a deep breath and pulled open the lapels of the robe. With a flick of her wrists, she let the soft garment slide off her shoulders and into a pool at her feet. Immediately her nipples peaked and she felt moisture between her thighs.

His erection sprang up, enormous and straining, as he surveyed her body, but otherwise he remained completely still. At last Frankie could no longer tolerate the silence. “Randy, say something.”

His chest heaved as he filled his lungs, then he slowly exhaled. “Come to me, Frankie.”

She did. With long, slow strides, she walked toward him, her breasts high and taut, her fingers twitching in anticipation of touching every part of his body. They came together in a leisurely embrace during which her gaze remained locked with his. He dipped his head and urged her mouth open
with his tongue, then smoothed his hands down to cup her rear and lift her against him. Somewhere in her muddled mind, she registered that he had shaved, and she relished the smoothness even as she missed the sandpaper texture. Their moans mingled and vibrated inside their kiss over the sizzling shock of their bodies touching intimately for the first time.

A thousand fires started in different places in her body, whooshing together in one consuming flame. His hands were gentle and firm, massaging her flesh in a way that promised he wouldn’t release her until they were both fully sated. Caught between his pleasing hands and his branding shaft, Frankie had never felt so drunk with need and want. Standing on the balls of her feet, she clung to him, running her hands down the hard muscles in his back, squeezing his buttocks as he pulsed against her.

He tore his mouth from hers long enough to scoop her into his arms and carry her to the bed, his mouth nuzzling her forehead. “Frankie,” he murmured as he lay down next to her. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” His breathing had become ragged and his expression serious.